The Danger of Hands
by ashehole
Summary: When Finnick doesn't strangle her, he uses those hands of his to bring Annie to a different sort of death.


The first time Annie sneaks into his room is a mistake. Not a mistake on her behalf, no, because she certainly means to do it. She's quiet as a mouse, barely breathing.

Her knee presses into the mattress. To be honest, she hasn't really planned this out very well. All she knows is that she was thinking about him, and that's how she makes most decisions these days. If it involves Finnick, she goes for it.

That's probably a dangerous way of living, but sometimes she's beyond that sort of rationale.

He's on her instantly, as if he isn't even asleep.

But his hand is around her throat, breath ragged, and maybe he was asleep. And she whimpers in fear. She knows exactly what Finnick is capable of. His fingers squeeze once before loosening. They don't move as he stares at her with wide eyes.

"Annie." He sounds as confused as she feels most days, and even though her heart is beating erratically, she manages to find a lopsided smile for him.

"Finnick."

His hand doesn't move, even when he removes the distance between them, capturing her mouth in a kiss so harsh and painful, it takes her breath away.

She tastes blood, she thinks, as she forces her body to catch up with her mind. But it's fractured, and so is the disjointed way she attempts to kiss him back. She tries to ignore the blood too, but she starts to wonder if it's his or hers and who is biting whom.

Finally, that hand of his slides away from her throat, and Annie gives a shuddering breath. It would be foolish to not be afraid of Finnick Odair for so many reasons. Those fingers that had been so close to crushing her tangle in her already-messy hair, but he doesn't seem to complain about any of that.

His mouth eases up on hers, his kisses slow and lingering. This is easier for her to copy, savoring every second of it.

That's what makes him terrifying. Not for his strength, not for the fact that he could kill her (she doesn't believe that, has never believed it, because Finnick is safety). It's because when she's with him, she feels like she's drowning. The way he touches her, the way his eyes linger on her, so much like the sea. It's the way he talks to her, like she's not broken. Like she isn't some burden for him to deal with. He could have walked away so long ago.

Her hands shake when she threads her fingers through his soft hair. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat as he lowers her onto her back. "Annie," he breathes into her mouth before breaking the kiss. He hovers over her, and she pants.

Once, in her previous lifetime, Annie had kissed boys before. It was nothing like this. Once, she had been promised a forever sort of thing from one of those boys, but when the old Annie had died, he never came to see her. Sometimes, she thinks it was all about getting his hands underneath of her skirt.

It was nothing like this.

Finnick doesn't touch her, but she already knows those dangerous fingers of his know more than that other boy. She knows that Finnick cares more. He stares down at her, like he isn't quite sure of what's happening.

She stares back because she's pretty sure that she knows what's _supposed_ to happen. "I'm okay."

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he chides her. He bends down, his lips caressing her neck in apology. Or what she assumes is an apology.

"It was a bad idea," she agrees. "Wanted to do it."

He touches her then, one hand on her hip, kneading gently through the nightgown she's wearing. His tongue sweeps along the expanse of skin from her neck to her ear, and her breath hitches.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs into her shoulder, even as his hand slides lower, to her thigh, to the hem of her nightgown. Even Annie knows that his words are at odds with his actions. Not even Annie is that crazy.

Her fingers are still in his hair, she realizes, and she tugs his head up like she's just become aware of this sort of power. He follows the instruction, and she smiles, a pleased one. Nobody follows her instructions anymore.

"I'm okay," she repeats, and Finnick gives her a sad sort of smile.

He's never made her feel like she was beyond hope, but there's something in that smile that tells her that she's wrong. That he knows better. That he knows better but is still going to hurt her in some way. And she doesn't really care, she thinks. Because this is Finnick, and she trusts him so much that her life might just depend on him.

His fingers are under her skirt, digging into her inner thigh, stroking their way up to her hip.

He smiles like he knows she's broken, and he touches her like he knows he's the only one who can.

It's a strange force to be caught between.

She thinks of the hurricane that had hit when she was ten, and how her mother's boat had nearly capsized. She remembers what it felt like to be trapped between winds. To her, that is Finnick. Actions at odds with his words at odds with himself.

She's the one who kisses him hard this time, because it's her choice. Because she's broken, and so is he. It makes them the same, and Annie likes that.

A moan is on her lips and caught in his breath when his hot fingers slide over her belly, up and up until the find a breast. He palms it, kneading gently. His hands are at odds with his mouth, and it drives her madder. Her back arches up into his touch, kissing him more desperately, her mouth exploring the fine line of his jaw, his cheeks, anywhere she can get to.

"Touch me," he implores before letting his mouth drop to her other breast, lips closing over it even through her nightgown.

She almost forgets that she has hands.

_Touch me._ His words move through her veins and finally hit her mind like a breath of air (and she's struggling with that part of this already). Her hands move with imprecise decision, and she lets her fingers learn every muscle along his shoulders and back. She marvels at him and wonders if old Annie would have been able to touch Finnick Odair, or would she have been trapped with some boy whose name the new her couldn't even dredge up?

He makes that noise again, like a cat's mewl stuck in the back of his throat. His teeth graze her nipple, and she inhales sharply, whimpers. His hand drifts down again, with purpose, with intent.

"Finnick, please," she moans, and his fingers drag over the front of her underwear. Her hips jolt up, and there's surprise in the way her body works. It's delightful, and she laughs.

He looks up at her, eyes so dark, it really is like looking into the ocean. "I don't know if my ego can handle you laughing at me," he laughs with her, and she knows he's lying. His ego could handle pretty much anything.

His fingers slide under the waistband of her underwear, moving over her slit.

Annie forgets words for a blinding second of pleasure, her knees coming up and falling apart for him. For a blinding second, there is nothing but Finnick and his fingers and the shuddering of her body as he strokes her.

And in another blinding second, she remembers laughing. "Not you," she pants and moans, hips rolling up to meet his fingers. "Me."

He nips at her jaw, kisses the corner of her mouth, his fingers moving over her faster. Her fingers dig into his back, nails biting skin as she clings to him for dear life (he is her anchor and her drowning ocean and that is a strange sensation as well).

"Come for me, Annie," he whispers into her ear before kissing her lobe.

And Annie does, unraveling in a way that is only good and yet maddening, crying out his name. Or what she thinks is his name. She's forgotten what words are again, but she can feel the way Finnick's mouth crashes against hers and swallows up the garbled words as he continues to touch her. Her world tilts sideways as her body shudders and she struggles to breathe.

It brings to her a certain sort of clarity that hasn't existed since old Annie, a silence that buzzes through every nerve.

Finnick kisses her eyelids as her eyes close, his beautiful, glorious, mad hand on her hip as he holds her close.


End file.
